


Catch Me a Catch

by TheSubtextMachine



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: (i guess), F/F, Lots of Phone Conversations, M/M, Spy AU with very little intrigue, a lot of discussion about the passage of time, a lot of scenes that are just Cyrus being sad, andi is an interior designer in this, cursing happens in this, did it for a nanowrimo challenge, excessive use of the phrase "down to clown", me trying some experimental stuff with my writinf, mental health issues??? Most likely, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-01-23 07:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12502432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSubtextMachine/pseuds/TheSubtextMachine
Summary: Cyrus is a low-level, borderline incompetent spy who finds himself in Utah on a mission. At Utah, he runs into Jonah, certified cutie, and his life gets flipped on its head (for more reasons than one). Experience as Cyrus goes through about 479 personal crises and makes some wacky descriptions.





	1. An Introduction In Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote Catch Me A Catch (title based off of "Matchmaker" from Fiddler on the Roof, because Cyrus' Friends try to set up up a lot/the title sounded a bit like Catch Me If You Can, which is a noted spy movie) for a NaNoWriMo style challenge. There's a lot of weird psychological/philosophical musing, mostly because I wrote this during a depressive episode and I was having a lot of ~feelings~.
> 
> Nonetheless, I really enjoyed the experience of writing this, and I figured I should get it out in the world.

Cyrus fiddled worriedly with his blue/white striped tie, trying to push out all thoughts of Harry the Heinous (Buffy always had the most creative names for his exes, the sweetheart) out of his mind. Out of his gallery of former boyfriends (and Iris. Iris was always the exception.), Harry was by far the most fashion conscious, and would always gripe about Cyrus' choice in ties. Cyrus' red and white holiday themed tie almost induced a breakup. In the end, the breakup was caused over a particularly nasty fight that ended with Harry packing up his clothes in the most dramatic way he could manage, even though he was just shoving miscellaneous button up shirts into a backpack.

Cyrus rolled his eyes at the memory, he always had a way of finding the most dramatic boyfriends.

As his mind drifted to his dramatic exes, he was reminded of Jerome the Roamer, who once shed genuine tears over an episode of Roseanne. It wasn't even a sad episode of Roseanne, which made it all the more ridiculous. Cyrus rolled his eyes even harder, before pulling his wayward focus back to his appearance, shining back at him in the mirror.

Cyrus was an unusually focused adult, at least compared to his friends. He could snap back from a mental tangent with speed and delicacy, but this morning was different than most mornings. Cyrus had to go in a plane this morning, so his focus was shot in the face of impending claustrophobia and badly chosen floor patterns (airplane carpeting was horrific, and it was one of those inconsequential things that bothered Cyrus more than it did most people). The trip from Washington DC to Utah was too long and too important for Cyrus to be operating at his full capacity. 

As he combed his hair with the efficiency of a man well used to jet lag and unheard alarm clocks, he realized that this was real life.

The fact that he was an adult who also happened to be in charge of transporting some of the most classified information in the world from one state to another was insane, especially considering that when he was a mere tween, his number one dream for the future was knowing how to turn on an oven without asking his mom for help.

Granted, Adult Cyrus rarely turned on ovens enough to properly satisfy his tween self, but he figured having a job and enough money to get by was enough to soften that lost dream.

As Cyrus grabbed his maroon briefcase that was stuffed with some classified information that was "above his clearance level", he left his house.

The minute he exited the main doorway of his humble abode, his phone immediately began to buzz. He whipped it out of his pants pocket with practiced ease, answering it in a way that he hoped was supremely badass.

"Cyrus Goodman. What's up?" Cyrus greeted, voice pitched slightly lower than usual to sound as awesome as he felt, dressed in business-casual and strutting down the sidewalk to his dark car.

"Wow, someone's feeling the spy vibes. It's Buffy. Heard that gay song on the radio that you like and decided to call. What's the haps?" Cyrus could practically hear Buffy reclining on her too-comfy couch, too-big college sweatshirt that she stole from her fiancée hanging from her shoulders.

"Someone's feeling the 'lazy day in' vibes. And 'what's the haps'? When did you become my mother? Also, gay song? Tell me more," Cyrus had reached his car, and settled inside, placing his phone on speaker as he started down the road.

"You bet I am! I've got the miniseries of 1984 ready to go, I'm going to watch the whole thi-"

"Tell me if it's good! I've been meaning to watch it."

"Of course it's going to be good, Maria Cullen wrote it. How could it not be good? And to answer some forgotten questions, I became your mother the day that, back in the crazy college years, you discovered what a Jell-O shot was and I had to take care of your drunk ass. I've been your put-upon, but still proud, mother since. Also, regarding the gay song, it's that one where the guys are talking about the YMCA, and apparently that's a gay thing?"

"The YMCA was a gay establishment until a bunch of people made it, like, not gay, I'm not sure about the whole history. I just know that it's a gay song and I also enjoy it," Cyrus could almost hear Buffy scoff, and he smiled at the easiness of it all.

"So, anyway, what's going on? Any news?" Buffy asked.

"Going to Utah for work, so that's going to be fun. Can't wait to partake in Utah traditions, like, I don't know, eating cheese? Is cheese a Utah thing?"

"That's Wisconsin. I think Utah is on of the square states, so maybe you can make a lot of jokes about it being indistinguishable on a map?"

"Wait, did you call with a point, because I'm almost at the airport."

"Yes! Yes, I actually did. Simone and I met a barista, and we thought that you two would hit it off."

"Do you have, like, trading cards of random guys who you meet that might hit it off with me? Is it a competition or something?"

"Yes to both of those, and I'm winning. I've got some great cards, my favorite is Gregario."

"You never say that name to me again. That was a time of my life that I want to forget."

"Anyway, the guy's name is Tim, and he seems pretty down to clown. She showed him a picture of you and he visibly registered interest. I have a number if you want it."

Cyrus contemplated for a second. Another faceless guy for another awkward period of his life, another year spent finding himself in a mirror that reflected back stranger after stranger? There were so many identities that he took on, for his job and for his everyday life, did he need to shift into another one, for a barista named Tim?

"Text it to me. I may or may not use it. I gotta go."

And with that, Cyrus' grand adventure began.


	2. An Interlude in Navy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus settles in Utah, arriving at the scene with flair.

It took about five minutes on the plane, cramped in between a very stressed out middle aged man and a young woman who looked like she was about to be executed on her way back to Utah, for Cyrus to decide that traveling wasn't for him. He had probably chosen one of the absolute worst jobs for this distaste, but it didn't matter at the end of the day. 

It took about ten minutes after that for Cyrus to begin formulating a list of things that he passively disliked to pass the time. Flying had a very solid third place, and he ended up using one of his pens in his briefcase to write the whole list down on a napkin, because this flight was going to last a while. 

The list was as follows:  
1\. Beer (Cyrus wasn't as anti-beer as Buffy or Justin The Bust[in], but he definitely didn't enjoy it as much as some of his peers did)  
2\. Modern-Day Shakespeare Adaptions (This one confused him, considering that he was a fairly modern, cool guy. But the idea of Romeo and Juliet meeting on a dating app just didn't excite him all that much, he guessed)  
3\. Flying  
4\. Jars of pennies ("Wow, this heavy jar of $5 was a worthwhile way to cultivate my wealth" said no one ever, he thought with a tone akin to someone desperately trying to sound cool by using sarcasm)  
5\. "Live Laugh Love" decorations (They weren't the absolute worst, but they always struck Cyrus with a sense of unease)

It was as Cyrus reached his sixth place (it was off-center centerpieces, by the way) that he realized that he may be overthinking this all. Who was he, an adult trying to waste time on a plane? While that was exactly who he was and what he was doing, he couldn't help but feel the disdain for the situation that creeped up in him. 

And what was he even writing, a list of things that he disliked? Why wasn't he spending his time creating, or actually adding to the world? Who was he, anyway?

Quickly shaking off his existential thoughts, he decided to stare at the seat in front of him and think up back stories for the people on either side of him, because he decided that that would be exponentially more productive than an unresolved philosophical conundrum. 

He was knee-deep in the stories of Katrina, the yearning teen on a trip to her dream life and Todd, an aging man grappling with his alcoholism and search for something more than the life he built for himself when Cyrus realized that he actually had some crosswords to do to take up the empty time of the plane. He felt silly for having spent so much time of reflection when crosswords existed, but decided that not a moment more would go to waste as he filled in a careful, lightly written "lemon".

The time eventually passed with a speed that would have scared him if he wasn't so intent on blocking out his fear of aging, and soon enough he was bounding off of the plane with a pep in his step and excitement for what was to come. He came up with a small song in his head, a pleasant refrain of "I'm here, I'm queer, and the nation's most important secrets are near" awkwardly dropping in between nonsensical, rambling verses. 

He picked up his luggage, and as he walked towards his rented car (he was pretty sure that Jeanine, the person in charge of these manners, had booked him a terrible van again because of the time that he dumped her brother, Bigot Brent, but he decided to shrug it off and keep on moving), his phone buzzed in his pocket. Awkwardly trying to pull it out while holding a briefcase, a suitcase, and a pen that he hadn't put back in his briefcase, he eventually rearranged into a precarious statue, with bags ready to fall at any moment.

"Cyrus Goodman," he answered, making sure to retain his spy voice.

"Andi Mack," she replied, mimicking his spy voice. Cyrus wondered if he should stop doing the spy voice after this critical reception from Buffy and Andi.

"How are you? The city life treating you well?" Cyrus tried to tuck his phone in his shoulder and continue walking, but it didn't work out. He tried holding the briefcase and the suitcase with one hand, with the phone in the other, but the briefcase slipped through his fingers and slammed onto the floor with a loud sound. The conversation continued as he tried configuration after configuration.

"It's hell, as always, but in that weird 'I'm following my dreams but this sucks sometimes' way. Anyway, Buffy told me that you were in Utah-"

"News travels fast."

"Indeed it does. Anyway, I know a guy in Utah who you might clic-"

"Seriously? You too? I already have a number of some barista named Tim. I don't need Utah boy-"

"Well, Terrible Tim may have to wait because this guy's great."

Cyrus reorganized again, looking to an observer like a coat hanger about to tip over. 

"Terrible Tim? I feel like it's too early for that extreme of a nickname."

"Tim as a name is in and of itself a bad sign. Jump out now, and jump into this Utah guy. He's a low level government official-"

"Hot."

"-and he's, as Buffy would say-"

"Down to clown, I know. She says that about most guys who's numbers she has given me."

"But I don't know, he is notably down to clown. And his taste in ties might be worse than yours, so you won't have to be worried about being out dressed at a party."

"Wait, is he a beer guy? He sounds like a beer guy. I thought that we discussed that I preferred wine guys."

"He drinks both. Very business casual, if you get the vibe."

"I get the vibe. I'm gonna sleep on that one. Anyway, are you going to watch 1984? Buffy's watching it on her casual day in, and I know that you two like to stay up to date on the shows that you watched."

"I saw the first episode. Good cinematography, pretty good writing-"

"It's Maria Cullen, of course."

"Of course, she's a goddess. But the main actor isn't my favorite. It's not that he's a bad actor, but he's not a good one and there was that whole thing last year where he said those things about representation that I'm still not okay with-"

"Wait, Gerard Herret is the main guy? Why?"

"You didn't know?"

"It's not like his face is on all of the marketing, there are much more iconic symbols related to the book-"

"Anyway, anyway, it's good. I think Buffy will like it."

"I've got to go, I just got to the rental car place," Cyrus spoke (almost yelled) into his phone that was slowly slipping from his careful grasp. As it finally fell on to floor, just avoiding a cracked screen, Andi hung up with the tired sigh of a conversation cut short by time. He slowly pulled himself together, rearranging everything to avoid continued catastrophe, and soon he looked well enough put together to be construed as an adult who didn't lose focus in the shower and find himself staring at the white tiles in front of him like a zombie.

He completed the insurance checks and payments until he was guided to a big white van, and cursing the lord above and Jeanine below, he climbed into the too-big, too-sketchy van and sighed, giving himself a moment to sit in the seat and allow himself to breathe. He heaved deep sigh after deep sigh, losing himself in the dark surroundings of the car, before pulling himself together, pushing down the new refrain sprinting through his mind, screaming "you need more time". He started the car and turned on the radio, breathing in every familiar, Top 40s not as if it was his oxygen. With this, he rolled down the long, faded grey streets of Utah, ignoring the heaviness that weighed him down into the seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment or leave kudos! Thanks for reading!


	3. An Affair in Royal Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonah arrives in a coffee shop, and things are nice for a little bit.

He entered his hotel room, breathing in the air and letting it fill him up until he felt as if he could burst at any moment. He let go of a long breath, sighing it out as he walked across the room in large, clomping steps. He dropped himself on the bed, face-first, and stayed throughout a long exhale. Eventually, as he ran out of breath, he flipped over on to his back to breathe in again. 

The wave of fatigue that was rushing over him was intense, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds, before deciding that the effort that it took for him to open them again was dangerous. He gathered the energy to sit up, and began to unpack. Cyrus set aside the briefcase of "important information", which he technically wasn't allowed to read. Jeanine had handed to him as if it was a figurine made out of thin glass, ready to break at any moment. Her mouth had been curved down in a warning way as she gave him the basic rules of this transfer: he was not to look in the briefcase, he would be handing the information to a man known only under the name Space Otter ("what a dumb code name", he had thought to himself as the briefing occurred), and Space Otter would be dressed in business casual, not unlike a dad reconnecting with his son at a Chili's. With this description and some technical elaborations, like time and place, Cyrus was shoved onto a flight to Utah and sent on his merry way. 

Cyrus was pretty sure that Jeanine thought that he wasn't prepared to do something of this caliber of spy work, even though it was pretty low caliber spy work, and Cyrus agreed with her. He was significantly better when operating in groups than alone, and his refusal to run often got him in trouble when there was no one else willing to sprint away from the scene of the crime with confidential information held tightly in their fist (of course, when Cyrus absolutely had to run, he would, but his hesitation almost got him killed at least once). 

Feeling (and resisting, he wasn't as incompetent as Jeanine pretended he was) the urge to read the confidential files, Cyrus decided to flop back on the bed and turn on the hotel television.

The hotel wasn't the absolute best, and they didn't have any of the premium channels that Cyrus liked to watch when he went on vacation, even though they never showed anything he would actually watch if it wasn't 3 in the afternoon in a mediocre hotel. He settled instead for a news channel, and began to half heartedly heckling the announcers when he felt a sudden, profound urge to order coffee from the coffee shop down the street. He looked at the clock, and realizing that there wasn't much else to do, decided to give in. The transfer was supposed to happen tomorrow at 11:56pm, in the exact coffee shop he was about to go to. 

He put his hotel key in his pocket and left, trekking down the carpeted halls of the hotel, trying to ignore how awful the pattern was. He reached the elevator, and as it slowly descended down three stories of the awkward building, Cyrus found himself in a strange mood.

Airplane travel always did this to him. He felt the weird, almost lightheaded emotion of being somehow out of his body, like this was a montage in a movie instead of real life. He had a lot of moments like this, where he felt more like a picture than a person. He walked down the lobby, casually letting the soles of his shoe slide a bit over the smooth, shiny tile on the floor of the cavernous room. He felt tired, like his day was catching up to him and making him heavier, starting from his fingertips to his knees.

He walked down the sidewalk, looking at his feet and examining the long, rosy stretch of it. Grass grew in the corners and edges, and occasionally small flecks of it would catch the light of the sun and shine, as if glitter was embedded in it. Eventually he looked up and found himself in front of a humble cafe.

He opened the door, hearing the soft ding that accompanied it, and walked up to the ordering counter. Behind a barista who appeared more invested in the upkeep of her impressively bold blue lips than the coffee she was making, there was a limited menu written on a chalkboard. The standards were there, along with some specialty drinks that were more likely to be tourist attractions than actual drinks.

Cyrus had to have one.

The barista walked to the register, ready to take an order. Cyrus, trying to hold back the nervous stutter that accompanied the majority of meals he ordered, ordered some monstrosity called "The Critterbitter". She gave him a friendly, confident smile and told him that his order was coming up.

Cyrus decided to sit at one of the tables near the pickup counter. He pulled out his phone and checked the news, and when the usual chaos proved to be too much for casual consumption, he checked his email. Cyrus was greeted with some advertisements and a piece of chain mail from Buffy (she was oddly invested in chain mail, a quirk that Cyrus never really understood). He was pulled out of his bored reverie of scanning through advertisements when someone approached his table, and he looked up.

He was greeted with the sight of a notably attractive guy, adorned in a tie that screamed "I've never cheated on a test" and a smile that looked like the sun had risen after years of storms. 

"Hello?" Cyrus greeted, as if it was more of a a question than anything.

"Hey, can I sit with you? There're no seats left," he asked, smiling like he had somehow gotten away with something. 

Cyrus looked around the practically empty cafe, and smiled with a realization of what was happening.

"Of course, feel free to join. All for the sake of necessity, of course," Cyrus answered, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear coyly. 

"Of course."

The pair shared a smile of knowing, like they were somehow the only ones in on some secret. Cyrus turned his head back to the barista, who's face was striking a perfect balance between feigned indifference, fatherly approval, and secondhand embarrassment of watching two adult dorks awkwardly trying to convey attraction in an empty coffee shop. Cyrus turned back to the guy, who had taken a seat.

"Waiting for your order, too?" he asked, mimicking Cyrus and looking back at the barista, who had gone from observing the encounter to making their coffee.

"Yep. I ordered one of those crimes against humanities, the-" 

"The Critterbitter?"

"You bet. I can't wait to be anticipating food poisoning for the rest of my night," Cyrus said.

"You sound like someone who's had some traumatic experience with out of town specialty foods," replied Jonah, a soft laugh beneath his words.

"You wouldn't even believe. Makes for some great bonding experiences, though. Nothing screams Office friendship louder than Hunter from Human Resources handing you paper towels while you have -simultaneously, may I add- food poisoning and a midlife crisis."

The guy laughed at this, but was eventually interrupted as the barista called out a "Jonah!", holding up a cup of coffee.

"Since you are the only other person in this absolutely packed, filled to the brim coffee shop, I assume your name is Jonah?" Cyrus asked.

"You'd be correct. Jonah. Jonah Beck, if you want to stalk me on the internet. And what name should I use for internet stalking, if you don't mind sharing?" Jonah replied, standing up and slowly making his way to the counter, face still turned to Cyrus.

"Cyrus. Cyrus Goodman. Although there are a lot of Cyrus Goodmans on the internet, so just try to find the sixth most attractive one and you'll find me," Cyrus called out to Jonah's slowly retreating form as he quickly grabbed his coffee and came back to the table.

"To set the record straight, you are at least the third most attractive Cyrus Goodman on the internet. And the other two are just so there's room for margin of error. But beside that, where're you from?" Jonah asked, causing Cyrus to smile as he realized that he was about to have an epic work vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Officially, this fic will update on Wednesdays, about this time too, if I decide to be really devoted to the posting schedule. I’d like the thank those who commented on the debut chapters, and anyone who decides to comment now! I very honestly appreciate the comments I get, they make my day.


	4. A Rendezvous in Cornflower Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyrus flourishes, the story continues

After Cyrus had finished the (wretched, terrifying, simply abominable) Critterbitter, he and Jonah decided to go on a walk around the small shopping center near the coffee shop and their hotel. They had discovered that they were both staying at the same hotel for the work trips they were going on (Jonah was a city or two away from the town where his "work conference" was being held, hence the decision to stay at a hotel instead of making the long-ish drive from his house to the conference). They left the coffee shop together, which was met by two thumbs up and as she mouthed "go for it!" at Cyrus while he was dropping some of his change in the tip jar. He responded with what he hoped was a discreet thumbs up in response, and went on his way.

They traversed along the cracked sidewalks leading to the dinky shopping center in amiable silence, sharing the occasional joke about a wacky car that had driven past them or he kind of souvenir that they would get for their friends and/or family. 

Within the walk, they had established a few solid things:  
1\. The bright orange car, paired with family stickers on the back in which the family consisted of, if the figurines were anything to go by, two guns and three slightly smaller guns was disgusting and should not be forced upon the eyes of any other innocent human.  
2\. Both of them were planning to buy the female friends in their life some sort of cheesy mood jewelry as a joke, and then some other, undefined but still meaningful thing.   
3\. They were also going to buy those family figurines where the family was represented by guns, but all of the guns would be small, so strangers would wonder if a baby was driving the car. For effect, there would also be a dog/gun figurine to illustrate that babies were indeed driving the car.  
4\. Cyrus was really disappointed that, at the end of the week-long work trip, Jonah would be states away from him. 

As much as Cyrus hated the concept of immediately jumping into another ill-advised relationship after the most recent ill-advised relationship, the concept was more attractive than ever with Jonah. Jonah was nice, at the very least, and he laughed at Cyrus' jokes, which was more than Cyrus could say for some of his exes (Impolite Ivan would actually critique his delivery if it was particularly bad and was terrible to waitstaff, both of which were both deal breakers that Cyrus didn't know he even had before he dated Ivan).

Eventually, the pair arrived at the shopping center, and were immediately hit with the question of where to go first. There was a Target, shining with it's too-bright lights in the center, a paragon of cleanliness and futuristic design compared to its neighbors. On the Target's right, there was an awkward knickknack store, looking as if it was pushed in between the Target on its left and the sports bar on its right.

In an instant, Jonah and Cyrus decided that this knickknack store was going to be their primary destination.

Like giddy children, they raced against the parking lot, jumping on and off curbs, trying to maneuver in between the thin slices of space between cars that would lead to their destination. By the end of the (short but exhilarating) quest across the semi-crowded, semi-dilapidated parking lot, Jonah's questionable tie was the dictionary definition of eschew, and Cyrus was panting as if his life depended on it, practically doubled over.

"Do we need to take a moment?" Jonah asked, leaning against the wall outside of the store and wiping some sweat off of his brow.

"I need to take a moment definitely. I don't know about you, you seem pretty spry for a guy with that outfit," Cyrus replied, moving to lean next to Jonah on the stone wall.

"With this outfit? Elaborate."

"Well, that button up paired with that tie? It absolutely screams 'I played baseball in high school and I yearn for the ability to be that fast again, but I'm so discouraged by the fact that I'm not that fast anymore that I avoid a lot of exercise that I would do if I didn't have that complex'," Cyrus rattled off in between heavy breaths.

Jonah responded with a quirked brow and an amused smile.

"You could've just said it looked boring. I mean, even I think that it looks boring, Cyrus."

"No, but there's so much potential in descriptions, Jonah! You don't understand the magic of a good, overly specific story. I mean, I'm sure that people would get a much better idea of what you're wearing through my middle aged man who played baseball in his youth story than just a few generic words!" Cyrus had become passionate, gesturing wildly with his fervor.

"True, true. Boring is better to describe khaki than it is to describe a button up. I surrender," Jonah held his hands up in said surrender before sighing happily as he looked up at the blue sky.

"As long as you agree with me, then we'll be good," Cyrus joked, rolling his eyes slightly as he let out a small laugh, mimicking Jonah and looking up.

"What if we disagree on something dumb?" Jonah asked, not tearing his eyes from the azure mass of the sky.

"Then we talk about it at a length that far surpasses how much we care about the topic until we tire ourselves out and go to sleep, or something like that, I guess. It's up to you, honestly," Cyrus answered in a voice that was far too wistful for his own good as the immediate tiredness that came from running washed over him.

"What of we disagree on something that's not dumb, then? Same modus operandi?" Jonah asked, voice quiet and almost reverent.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Cyrus responded with more certainty than he thought possible. The 'when's swirled around in the minds of the two, as if this was a promise instead of some exhausted daydream. 

"You know the funny part?" Jonah asked, dragging his gaze from above to Cyrus, who followed the movement until they were engaged in an intense stare.

"What?" Cyrus asked lazily.

"We haven't even walked into the store yet. Or kissed, which is the greater tragedy by far," Jonah answered, smiling brightly.

"We may just have to remedy that. We're already figuring out how we'll argue, might as well figure out if I'm going to fight with you about how bad of a kisser you are," Cyrus said, layering on the flirty overtones, one after the other.

"How bad of a kisser I am? Please."

"How will I know?"

To answer Cyrus' question, Jonah surged forward to kiss Cyrus. As Cyrus reciprocated, they were only interrupted by the sound of a car door opening and subsequently closing, causing the pair to separate and look forward at some grandma, the kind who owned every single edition of "That's Entertainment!" and would watch them too often.

The pair stood shock still, having jumped apart from the sound and fear of being caught. The two's backs were braced against the wall, staring at the older woman who was slowly making her way into the knickknack store. Thankfully, she didn't seem to have noticed anything as she kept walking, not sparing a glance to the terrified pair. 

When the coast was clear, the two turned their heads to face each other, not easing their on-edge stance, and letting out breathy, relieved laughs.

"That could've gone a lot worse," Cyrus stated, his words moving slowly with leftover caution.

"As someone who's mom once walked in on me while making out with my 'best friend' before either of us were out, I can assure you that if definitely could've gone worse," said Jonah, his face showing the residual embarrassment from what must have been a traumatic experience.

"Wow, your mom? I'm a lucky guy, my worst walk-in experience was the one time in college when I was kissing a guy in his dorm room, and his roommate, who just happened to be my ex, walked in. The guy I was kissing had actually been cheating on my ex with me, so that was a fun thing to accidentally be a part of. I had no idea, of course, but it was insane."

Jonah laughed, wide-eyed in a slightly concerned manner.

"Was this a normal part of your college experience? Accidentally being a homewrecker? Like, was that just a normal Tuesday for you?" Jonah asked, and Cyrus couldn't figure out the answer that wouldn't end in either an eye roll of some kind of scolding.

"College was definitely a wild time for me. But that was a sort of unusual experience? It wasn't the only time something like that ever happened, but that wasn't a regular Tuesday night. More like an occasional Saturday." 

Jonah's eyebrows were raised, but he didn't ask anymore questions. Cyrus considered this a win. Maybe, Cyrus thought, he could tell Jonah about the epic love octagon that he accidentally stumbled into during spring break. 

"How about you, Jonah? Any other wild walk-in stories?" Cyrus prompted.

"Um, technically I'm the one doing the walking in here, but there was this one time when I walked in on my friend making out with her theater friend while playing Phantom of the Opera in the background, and it was too awkward for me to figure out the story behind that music choice," Jonah said. 

"Phantom of the Opera? That wouldn't be my choice for a musical to make out to. Personally, I'd probably suggest something like Fiddler on the Rood. Nothing gets someone more in the mood than a well-played fiddle, that's for sure."

This had Jonah and Cyrus laughing, and soon Cyrus was humming the opening fiddle riff through his laughter, which only made Jonah more hysterical.

"It's true! Few things are as sexy as a good fiddle."

Soon, the laughter died down, and Jonah turned to Cyrus, smile stil emblazoned on his face.

"Hey, Cyrus," Jonah started, his voice light.

"What, Jonah?" Cyrus asked in return.

"We should probably actually walk into the store."

"That's a good idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys! Please leave comments, they make my day.


	5. A Sudden Decline in Azure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are good until they’re,,, not

They had bought some postcards and a few stickers, along with a few miscellaneous piece of jewelry. On their way back to the hotel, they shared phone numbers and enough smiles to last a lifetime. 

When Cyrus had finally gotten to his hotel room, he decided to check his phone in earnest, instead of the passing glances he spared it whenever he missed a call or got a text. As he scrolled through the list on his meticulously cleaned screen, he heaved a great sigh of duty. 

Cyrus decided to start from the bottom of the everlasting list and work his way up.

The first notice, from about 3 hours ago, was a missed call from Jeanine.

Cyrus held back the urge to flop on his bed and neglect his phone. He definitely didn't need a conversation with Jeanine right now. Despite this urge, he called her, running his unoccupied hand through his hair in exasperation. The phone only rang a few times before she picked up.

"Cyrus? Why the hell didn't you answer my call? This is an important mission and if you fuck this up then I might have to-" Jeanine started, her voice slowly growing in volume like a ivy plant slowly but steadily creeping up the wall of a building. 

"I was busy. Catch me up on whatever I missed right now, and I'll send you an apology card later," Cyrus replied in a manner that was most likely more brusque than necessary. Cyrus and Jeanine had a generally antagonistic relationship after his ordeal with Brent. The only exception was the occasional time when some sort of holiday party would roll around, and Cyrus would hear Jeanine crying through the door of the office bathroom, since parties made her sad. The pair would discuss their fears of loneliness and the passage of time before parting ways and treating each other as nothing had ever happened. It wasn't the best relationship, but it worked for what they needed to get done.

"Asshole. Anyway, tomorrow, for the information transfer, you need to go to the coffee shop down the street."

"I'm familiar with it, went this morning."

"Fascinating. May I continue?"

"Yes, yes. I'm sorry."

"Okay, so at this coffee shop, the guy with the briefcase of information to trade will be waiting for you. Order something, sit down, and he will approach. He will say 'Wow, I really like that tie. Very Ross from Friends.'"

"What? Ross from Friends? What kind of shitty dialogue is this? Give me something to work with, Jeanine."

"You are in no position to make requests, Goodman. The only position you occupy is Person B of a transfer. He says that, and you respond by tapping your head three times to show that you know that he is the transfer guy. He will sit down, and you will put your briefcase on the floor. He will do the same. Make some dumb small talk, your specialty-"

"That's a compliment, Jeanine. Don't say it like it's an insult."

"Anyway, you will pick up his briefcase and he will pick up yours. This exchange will last approximately three minutes. If you wait more than five minutes, something has gone wrong. Text me, I'll respond as quickly as I can. And don't socialize. I know that you like doing that too," Jeanine ended in a tone that was borderline accusatory with hints of bitterness, and Cyrus rolled his eyes.

"Now who's getting off topic, even though both of us know that I didn't cheat on your brother, he was jealous for unfounded reasons and also the worst," Cyrus said, trying to block out the immediate memories of Jeanine's brother and his accusations of infidelity that occurred with high frequency near the end of their relationship. He was, if one was to be technical, lying about the cheating part, but Jeanine didn't need to know that.

"We aren't doing this," said Jeanine, her voice becoming softer and more dangerous, the edge of quiet destruction coming dangerously close to Cyrus.

"You started it," Cyrus accused, trying to keep away the residual anger coming from another matchmaking gone wrong.

"Shut the fuck up and do your job," Jeanine replied, the words spat out in a cold, terrifying way.

"I'll do what I can. Have a good day, Jeanine," said Cyrus, trying to appear more pleasant than angry.

Jeanine responded with hanging up, not sparing a goodbye. Cyrus looked through his log of missed calls to reach the next person. Thankfully, it was a call from Buffy, and he sighed in relief before calling the number.

"Cyrus! Why didn't you answer my call? I'm on the sixth episode of 1984, and I have a lot to say, man! I want to marry Maria Cullen, too. I mean, that third episode. That was art! Anyway, what's up?" 

"The usual. Got coffee. Met a cute guy. We had a rendezvous. It was very romantic. I felt like I was in one of those movies where someone meets there soulmate and they spend the day together, and the rest of the movie is just them trying to find each other again. I'm charmed."

Buffy made an impressed noise on the other line, and Cyrus could hear some shuffling on the couch.

"Sounds mysterious. How was the coffee?"

"Disgusting. And mysterious?"

"If we're following the movie plot, I can't get detail on him until he's gone. It's when you explain it to me that the quest to find him again begins, and it's too soon. The day will come when I want all of the hot details, but right now I want to gush about 1984, the amazing grilled cheese I had, and maybe vent a little bit about wedding stress."

"Shoot."

"Okay, 1984 is amazing, and I want to marry Maria Cullen."

"Aren't you already getting married?"

"I would call off my wedding if Maria Cullen showed up on my front door and said 'run away with me'. Good correction?"

"Good enough. Keep going."

"The third episode! It was art! It was a sort of a one off, with all of these flashbacks and I am so shaken that I think I may start trembling. It was amazing. And the cinematography was amazing! I would marry that cinematographer, too. Me, Maria Cullen, and the cinematographer would live a very happy life together, holed up in some apartment making art together. That would be the dream."

"Those would be some amazing dinner parties."

"Yes! Speaking of dinner, lets Segway into this amazing grilled cheese. It was just great. There's not much more to say but it managed to be a very important part of my day. Something about it just completed the lazy day mood for me, I can't even describe. And finally, on my last bit of business, this wedding."

Cyrus settled on his bed, his back on the headboard, ready for the barrage that was going to hit him. Buffy's stress was a constantly intensifying cascade of anxiety and micromanaging, and Cyrus got secondhand stress from it more often than he preferred.

"So I spent the fourth day in a row doing some work on the seating chart, and let me just say that whoever came up with the concept of human relationships needs to be put in jail for all of the harm that he has done. Part of me wants to kick my grandma out of this wedding. She has made so many people either unhappy or uncomfortable that I can't seat her anywhere."

"She can sit next to me. I volunteer."

"She would have a stroke. I mean, chances are that she will have been holding in all of her gripes and casual homophobia through the whole wedding. Sitting her next to you and whatever attractive man is awarded the pleasure of being your plus one? She would have an aneurysm. You don't have to go through that. You shouldn't have to go through that."

"A stroke and an aneurysm? Sounds like an adventurous gal. We could hit it off."

"Cyrus, please," Buffy replied in a voice that was worryingly pleading.

"Okay! Okay."

"Anyway, Simone is working on the flower arrangements. She's being a saint through all of this," said Buffy, and Cyrus smiled.

Simone, Buffy's kind but beleaguered fiancée, had taken on the majority of the aesthetic oriented part of their wedding. Simone had always appreciated flowers, and Cyrus was excited to see what she would put together. One time, during a marathon of some dumb, excessively heterosexual drama accompanied with a notable amount of rosé, Simone had admitted to Cyrus that she had always wanted to be a florist. Instead, she ended up becoming an art teacher at an elementary school, but she managed to let go of many of her flower related regrets.

"I can't wait to see what she comes up with."

"Me too," Buffy responded fondly, and Cyrus found himself wishing, in some abstract way, for that. Whatever that was, whether it was the marriage, or the fondness, or the soft whisper of "forever", Cyrus wanted it. 

"So, who's in charge of the food?" Cyrus asked, breaking the mood. He took some sort of destructive pleasure in breaking the mood.

"Me. Steak, chicken, or fish?"

"Pork. It's the only meat that I eat. Everything else just makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong. Like pirating a movie even though the DVD is only a few yards away," Cyrus said, voice warped and slightly higher than usual to make clear that he was joking.

"I'm writing you down as steak. Good luck."

"I'm going to need it," Cyrus replied, and the ensuing silence punctuated the conversation.

"Good luck Cyrus. I'm gonna watch the next episode. After I'm done with the season, I'm gonna call Andi, so if she calls you in a panic about the fact that I just called her, cried for a few minutes without explanation, and hung up, that's why."

"Good to know. Godspeed, Buffy Driscoll."

"Godspeed."

Cyrus ended the conversation, and pulled an unopened bottle of water from the carry on that he hadn't unpacked yet. He took a sip, ignoring the occasional thought of 'I'm a total train wreck, I've only had coffee, what have I become, why didn't I drink the water earlier, why am I so tired'. It was the kind of mental rambling thought that was low in coherency but high in potency. Cyrus just wanted to sleep, at this point, put he decided to see who else he had missed a call from. As he saw the name, he massaged his temples to soothe the oncoming headache as he called back.

"Cyrus? You missed my-"

"Harry. Why did you call? I would've blocked your number if I thought you would call, but this must be an extreme situation if you could gather up enough audacity to call me. So shoot," Cyrus spoke the words with the cadence and tone of a glacier sailing smoothly on water. As annoying as this phone call was bound to be, the power Cyrus felt gave him a rush.

"I was never the coward in this relationship, Cy."

With that, all sense of power seeped out of Cyrus. He felt his head go cold with it all.

"Why are you calling?" Cyrus asked, trying to keep his voice level in the face of this attack.

"In my hurry to get out of the house the other day, I left something important."

Cyrus, despite himself, felt his interest pique. 

"Tell me more."

"Lets just say, there was a piece of jewelry, and it was very expensive, and I need it. I need keys to the house to get it. Once I have it, we never have to say another word to each other again."

"Piece of jewelry? Vague descriptions? What are you hiding, Harry?"

"It was a ring. An engagement ring."

Harry's response left Cyrus dumbstruck. He was unable to produce any words, any reaction. The realization felt like ice as it rushed through his system, and he felt his stomach drop. An engagement ring. The words reverberated around in Cyrus' head.

"Cyrus?" Harry's voice, quiet with vulnerability, rang through Cyrus' head.

"I'm in Utah. I can't go back home until I get this work thing done, Harry, I'm so sorry," Cyrus said, and he meant it more than anything.

Silence was traded between them for a while longer, and they couldn't tell if they spent seconds, minutes, or an eternity together on the phone, mourning.

"When you can give me the keys, call me. Goodbye, Cyrus."

"Bye, Harry. I'm so sorry, I-"

Harry hung up, cutting off Cyrus. 

The revelation came in waves, and the initial cold shock was soon replaced by an overwhelming heaviness. He thought about Buffy and Simone and "forever" and everything that he was missing, and tried to quell his growing headache. Nothing made sense, and he felt like everything around him was different in a language that he couldn't speak. As he sank further in the bed, mind too overwhelmed with thoughts and missed possibilities to notice the tears that were coming fast. He barely held himself together, everything was happening too quickly for him to keep up. His phone buzzed, but if felt like it was happening somewhere else. Cyrus couldn't muster up the energy to reach for it, and instead focused on the beige expanse of the ceiling above him. 

He couldn't bring himself to hate Harry, no matter how many sharp words Cyrus had thrown at him and about him. Even though Harry may have ruined what was going to be a pleasant evening by giving Cyrus feelings, Cyrus could never really hate Harry.

Cyrus spent an indiscernable amount of time just staring at the ceiling, drifting in and out of tears and ignoring his phone. Somewhere in the night, he fell into a fitful sleep with short, difficult dreams that always ended before Cyrus could feel resolved.

The first one was simple enough, Buffy was sitting with him, drinking tea in a small cafe with him. They were both older and sadder. Buffy had her hair pinned up in something messy and tired, and Cyrus had light wrinkles scattered around his face. They spoke in low tones, almost as if they were sharing a secret.

"Some people just aren't meant for forever, Cyrus. And that's okay," Buffy said, so motherly and so sad that it made Cyrus ache. The flowers around them, from the lavenders on the wooden windowsills to the carnations in a vase in the center of each table, were pastel and soft and nothing like the sharp ice that Cyrus felt. 

He woke up with a sharp inhale through the nose, before looking outside the window to view a darkening sky, only interrupted by sharp bursts of yellow streetlights. Figuring that he was far gone, Cyrus turned his head back into his pillow and continued his series of dreams.

The next took place at Jeanine's wedding, in some bathroom. Like it would be in the holiday parties at their office, Jeanine would be sobbing, back lined up against the door to the "Family" bathroom, and Cyrus would be leaning against the outside of it, trying to comfort her through the thick door. In the dream, the hallway was different. It was older, and instead of the beige paint covering the walls from head to toe in perfect uniformity, the wall had wood paneling springing up from its feet, and black and white pictures of yesterday's heroes were placed on the wall, with frames varying in size and color. Snippets of the white lace that lived on Jeanine's wedding dress peeked out from under the slim crack at the bottom of the door.

"What if I did all of this and I'm still not happy, Cy? What if I spend all of this time and effort and I still have this feeling, and it just never goes away?" Jeanine sobbed, voice muffled and warped by the space between them.

"I believe that you can be happy Jeanine. With every fiber of my being, I really do. I don't have much else to say. There will be good days and bad days but you can be hap-"

Suddenly, in the middle of the word, Cyrus found himself flipped with Jeanine. Suddenly, he was the one will tears running down his cheek, head to the door. He could feel Jeanine's lavender scented presence on the other side. There was quiet, interrupted only by the occasional sound of a sniffle or a quiver of Cyrus' sobbing form.

"I'm a good person, right? I mean, sometimes I'm selfish and sometimes I ignore calls that I don't want to take and sometimes I'm mean to the people who I care about the most, but that doesn't make me a bad person, right?" Cyrus rambled, and he could feel Jeanine's watery smile through the door.

"You're not a bad person, Cyrus. I can't say that you're a good person, because if I could judge that I wouldn't be stuck in a job that I hated in Washington DC, but I can say with confidence that you aren't a bad person. Trust me on that."

Cyrus responded by crying harder, until he felt everything even out. His breathing calmed, and his closed eyes opened to see him sitting on top of a hill overlooking a lake. Iris was on his side, and Cyrus could feel the separation as if it was almost as solid as Iris. Cyrus and Iris both knew that if they were both like the couples around them, joined at the hip, two by two, the pair would be melded together, side by side. 

It was the end of the summer, and Cyrus and Iris had both changed more over a trio of months than they had over full years. Iris had taken the leap and cut of a significant portion of her hair, until she was left with a short bob. Cyrus had gotten closer and closer to Darren, a cute guy from his math class over the summer. Darren had been out of the closet for a while, and Cyrus had spent hours upon hours gossiping over milkshakes and walking in the park with him, and both of them had been consumed with the odd air of flirtation that accompanied all of their encounters. Iris had taken similar measures, spending days at a time in Caroline's living room, marathoning eighties movies and drinking Coco-Cola like fall didn't exist. 

The two had been hanging on to their relationship forever, but both had been loosening their grip. As the two began to contemplate what life might be like if they weren't so comfortable in their closets, and slowly inching out. However, they both knew that they had to cut this one tie loose before they could be fully out.

The landscape was beautiful, and the atmosphere was bittersweet as they refused to make eye contact and sat in anticipatory silence.

Iris, forever the braver half, ended the wait.

"Cy?" Iris began, her voice soft and reverent. Cyrus could feel the soft breeze of a summer evening brush against his shoulders, and he gave a pleasant hum of recognition, the question present in the short note.

"I think we've both been waiting for this," Iris said, tentative as she regarded the way that the sunset make the lake in front of them shine neon orange.

"I think so too. Want to get married?" Cyrus joked, words layers over a chuckle.

"Cyrus..." Iris trailed off disapprovingly, not yet turning her head to look at Cyrus. 

"I know, I know. I kind of want this summer to last forever, you know?" Cyrus said, yearning for the endless summer of laughs and no risk present in all of his favorite daydreams. 

"I know. I do to, in some weird way. But we're going back to school soon. Back to life soon. I'm terrified, and I know you are too, but I can't spend another school year hiding. I need to be out. And I know that you need to be, too," Iris responded, her voice soft but endlessly passionate. Cyrus thought that if he was another person in another place and time, he could fall in love with her. Cyrus wished, deep down, that he could.

"I know, I know. I'm just scared," Cyrus replied, his voice vulnerable and terrified.

"I am too. Of course I am. But sometimes, you just need to take a risk and live. If you just do what you've always done, nothing will change. We both want change. We both need change, Cyrus. I if spend another moment in the closet I feel like I'm going to burst," Iris rambled. It was at the end of this monologue that Iris finally looked at Cyrus, who's head quickly snapped to attention. They made intense eye contact, as both felt their barriers and fears fall to the side. 

"Cyrus?" Iris began, and a smile rose on her face as they silently made the decision.

"Iris?" Cyrus prompted, eyes wide and expectant.

"I can't wait till we're older and we run into each other at a grocery store," said Iris, and Cyrus could tell that she was building a world in her head that was just waiting to be heard. He settled into his spot, getting comfortable as a warm smile began to bloom.

"It'll be here, or in California, or anywhere really. We never had our dreams in a place, we just had dreams. So we meet in this grocery store. I'm married, you're married. We run into each other, right in the chips section and we simply remember. All of the pain, the laughter, the awkwardness of being two teens in a fake relationship."

Cyrus let out a small giggle at that last bit.

"Our spouses will be in the aisle over. I feel like my wife would be some kind of artist. The kind of lady who puts her doodles on the wall, and leaves post-its everywhere of things that she wants to do. Head up in space, but still amazing. And we both know that whoever your husband will be, he'll bake some amazing cookies. He can't cook to save his life, but hand him the right materials and he can cause a riot at a bake sale. But anyway, we'll meet in this chips aisle, and my hair will be even shorter and your fashion sense even better. We'll be so happy, Cyrus. Happy that we've grown and that we let ourselves change. Of course we'll always have bad days, and we'll stare out of windows like whatever's outside will make us happy, but we'll be able to have those amazing days where it feels like everything is in its place. I can't wait, Cyrus."

"Neither can I, Iris."

"But we still need to change. We can't stay in this thing, it's keeping us away from what we both really want, Cy."

"I know. I can't wait either. Just promise that you'll keep those post-its organized. We both know how easy it is to lose track of one."

"Of course."

They sat in companionable, content silence. The lake's reflection of the sun dimmed and cooled down until the only color that wasn't some black abyss was the highlight on the crest of each wave, a cool pastel blue brought on by the stars above. The whole scene dimmed, until Cyrus finally began to open his eyes to the bright, unforgiving light of the morning. The sight that he opened his eyes to was admittedly jarring, from the impossibly bright light streaming in from the windows to the tan and crème colored hotel room. Cyrus, still jarred from his series of cryptic dreams, tried to move from his awkwardly held position on the bed. He groaned at the stiffness that held his legs in its painful clench, and he slowly managed to organize himself into something that almost resembled a functional adult.

As Cyrus continued the movements of his routine, he found his mind drifting in and out of his dreams. As Cyrus transformed from broken, sad, aging guy into an almost successful adult with stability with practiced ease in front of the mirror, he began to wonder how much of his life had been spent amidst this act. From the years he spent pretending that he was straight, which quickly morphed into the years that he spent acting like he knew what to do in school. When school was over, the act became centered on something more vague, something infinitely harder to define. 

Sometime, when he was too wrapped up in his thoughts and musings to truly comprehend much else, he had gotten ready for the day. With a start, he remembered that today was the day of the big information transfer, and that the quest of his career was about to unfold, and he just had to play his part.

Without much thought, he settled back into his act as he continued to get ready, the questions still lingering in the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, loving the long chapter. just some background info, the dream sequence was one of the favorite things I wrote in this story. I was really feeling an inspirational streak as I wrote it, and I hope that love shows. Also I appreciate each and every comment I receive, and if you ever want to chat my tumblr is TheSubtextMachine. Keep being awesome, readers!


	6. A Fall in Sea Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to go downhill.

  
It was easy to forget, Cyrus realized, as he briskly stepped over cracks on the sidewalk and viewed the graffiti on every flat surface that surrounded him, from the sidewalk to the curb to the telephone pole to his left. Everything was on schedule, and as he mentally prepared himself for the biggest job of his low-level spying career, Cyrus was forced to confront how easily he abandoned the fears and anxieties of the night before. 

Songs flitted in and out of his head. He hadn't brought earbuds to listen to music on the walk there, so he was just left to a radio station in his head consisting of bits and pieces of songs with brief interludes of thoughts ranging from intrusive to benign. He was walking to the beat of some pop song that he had heard on the radio, the steps made by his shoes lining up with the drum beats in his mind. 

By the time he had arrived at the coffee shop, he was suffering from a classic ear worm and a profound urge to go to an art museum. Mornings like this were tough for him. 

Giving a quick, pleasant wave to the barista from yesterday, Cyrus looked around the simultaneously spacious and cluttered cafe quickly to see if the guy he was looking for was already in the shop. Cyrus only spotted Jonah (his heart beat a little faster, but Cyrus had to focus on business, not Jonah and his breathtaking looks), some bored teens who looked like they bullied people who play lacrosse, and a smattering of nondescript faces doing some sort of work, be it on a phone, a laptop, or in a notebook. 

Cyrus pulled his focus back to the barista, her lips now colored an emerald green, and ordered an iced coffee. She smiled the slightest bit brighter than the day before, glancing at Jonah periodically. Cyrus fought the blush that began to bloom on the tops of his cheeks, but thankfully, the encounter ended before that became an issue. 

Cyrus waited by the counter, leaning against it with a forced calm, before pulling his phone out of his pocket to send a quick text of recognition to Jonah.

Cyrus knew that this was a business day, but Jonah at least deserved an explanation as to why Cyrus would be meeting another man in the coffee shop where their whirlwind romance began.

When Jonah received the text, he looked over at the counter and gave a small wave to Cyrus, before turning back to his own coffee, obviously trying to give him space. Cyrus chuckled at the lack of subtlety in Jonah's effort, but it was appreciated. Eventually, the barista called out Cyrus' name and handed him his coffee, and Cyrus took a seat. He checked his phone for the time, and then for an update from Jeanine. He didn't receive one, and after a moment of worry as snippets of their tense conversation immediately came to mine, he found himself deciding to brush it off. 

Cyrus scanned the shop again, before running over the instructions in his head one more time.

"Wait for him to come to you," the voice in his head that made all of his professional decisions stated. The voice sounded a lot like Jeanine, but he decided that that was gum to chew on another day. He checked his phone again, and then allowed himself to spare a look at Jonah. Cyrus watched for a few seconds longer than planned, since Jonah looked worried, and the slightest bit confused. Cyrus eventually tore his eyes away from the (radiant, gorgeous, effervescent) man, and settled on slowly sipping his coffee and waiting.

About five minutes had passed the planned meeting time, Cyrus decided that he should notify Jeanine. He sent her a quick text, the majority of the words made up of abbreviations and acronyms, because the urgency of the situation had slowly begun to work him into a nervous frenzy. The possibilities ran through his mind at a lightning speed. What if Cyrus had chosen the wrong coffee shop? What if Cyrus came at the wrong time? The possible mistakes built on each other, until he was convinced that he had monumentally fucked up.

Jeanine, the occasional angel that she was, sent a responding text that asserted that Cyrus was doing everything right, as far as she could see. Whoever was on the other side of this information transfer was apparently the one who had monumentally fucked up, but Cyrus couldn't help but feel the pangs of guilt in his stomach. 

So Cyrus waited. There wasn't much else to do, as Jeanine sent a hurried "Hang tight, will fix this". He sipped more of his coffee, and kept scanning the room. Nothing changed, and he got the feeling that nothing would change, at least for a while. He stared at the caramel colored walls of the coffee shop, trying to figure out what the paintings of the wall represented from a distance. He heaved out a long sigh, and continued to drink and wait.

Nothing really happened in the shop for a while, aside from the occasional spilled drink or miscommunication with the barista. Cyrus would periodically check on Jonah, who looked more and more nervous as the session went on. It was when Cyrus decided to go up to order more coffee, walking past Jonah to get the counter, before Jonah stopped him.

"Hey, Cyrus?" Jonah asked, face overflowing with an expression of fear and slight anger.

"Jonah?" Cyrus replied, voice soft and face questioning. 

What must've only been a handful of seconds felt like an eternity to the pair, as they waited in anticipation for a future neither of them could really predict. They could guess and estimate, but millennia passed before they reached the outcome. 

"I like your tie. Very Ross from Friends," Jonah said, with the voice and face of someone who would rather be dead than continue this conversation.

Cyrus responded with a too loud "Shit!" in a voice that was pitched too high not to attract the curiosity of the surrounding coffee drinkers. The two immediately turned their focus away from their shared, panicked eye contact to the suspicious eyes of the people around them.

They spied a mother, eyes darting angrily between Cyrus and Jonah and her young, elementary school aged child, who stared at the destruction with the glee of a kid who learned a new curse word. A trio of young adults crowded around a small circular table meant for two had already begun to whisper to each other at they stared at the scene. The barista was caught in a cross between intense curiosity, worry, and scolding over the shouting of swears in her shop.

Cyrus took a quick seat on the other side of Jonah, feeling his carefully crafted outer shell fall apart under the stress. 

"Jonah, what the hell are we going to do?" Cyrus said, voice whisper-yelling the words with a ferocity that put an ache in his throat.

"I don't know. Should we do the job now and disclose later? I have the-" Jonah started, reaching towards his briefcase.

"Disclose? What do you mean, disclose?" Cyrus interrupted, voice alight with a very specific kind of venom.

"We made this mistake because of yesterday. They should know why this happened," answered Jonah, voice slowing down with uncertainty, almost as if he'd been repeating the words for a while but only now begun to decipher their meaning.

"Or, we can, you know, not explain to them that the reason why an important mission was thrown off was because we made out in front of a trinket store and that made you think that I was incapable of espionage. We can say that there was a miscommunication in directions or-" Cyrus said, words moving so fast that his tongue could barely keep up.

"I'm not going to lie! They would understand. I mean, I'm sure that this has happened before, or at least something like this," said Jonah, hand continuing the reach towards the briefcase that he had forgotten about.

"They would understand you, probably. Considering that I'm currently the subject of a grudge from the person giving me directions, I'm not sure if I'm going to get off scot free, here. And considering that Jeanine knows some things that could be used in a case for my firing, a disclosure like this would put my job at so much risk, Jonah."

"Things like what?" Jonah asked testily, his question sounding too much like an accusation.

"That's not a conversation for today," Cyrus replied, voice short and combative.

"What, like there's a tomorrow after this kind of fuckup?" Jonah replied, before an angry silence began. 

"Lets just get the job done," Cyrus responded, and Jonah immediately softened from the anger that intoxicated Cyrus' speech.

Jonah began to say sorry while he started to push the briefcase to Cyrus, Cyrus picked it up before heading to his table to grab his, attempting a quick, casual exchange of briefcases before storming out of the shop. Jonah looked lost, halfway through an apology and in a daze.

He didn't bother looking back as he sped down the cracked, tired sidewalk, pulling his phone out of his pocket and calling the third name on his speed dial.

The phone barely rang before it was picked up, and Cyrus cut off the answering "Hello?".

"Jeanine? I fucked up. And I need to get out of Utah right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, readers! Hope you all are either having a good Thanksgiving break, or are about to have one, or aren’t living in the USA and therefore aren’t affected by Thanksgiving whatsoever. From the bottom of my heart, I and thankful for all of you. Please comment, and/or message me at my tumblr (I’m TheSubtextMachine). And by the way, if you ask me a question about this fic I am able to and will definitely answer it, so seriously consider that possibility!
> 
> See y’all next week!


	7. A Reflection in Grey-Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus walks around and is sad....but in prose

As Cyrus' rental car soared across the worn grey pavement of Utah's meager, starved highways, he found himself in an almost dream-like trance, his mind floating in and out of his dreams and memories. His head drifted through his dreams of last night, to his simultaneous fear of being alone forever and being attached forever. He couldn't imagine either in a serious way, if Cyrus was being honest with himself. He could envision a ring on his finger and the sound of a fireplace behind the voices of two husbands and their familiar conversation, but he couldn't imagine anything further. He also couldn't seriously come up with a face, a person to spend eternity with. He supposed that maybe he just hadn't met the right one, but as the seconds ticked by on the clocks that surrounded him, Cyrus wasn't sure if there ever would be a right one. Every person he ran into was either too tall or too short or too messy or too clean, and nothing fit. It wasn't like Buffy and Simone, and the way that they fit together like puzzle pieces. 

Cyrus supposed that he could settle, if he wanted to. Harry had almost proposed, chances are that he wouldn't be the last. Maybe forever was something that Cyrus had to learn. 

Nonetheless, the exhausted, sad words of Buffy rang in his mind.

"Some people just aren't meant for forever, Cyrus. And that's okay."

It looped around his head, and he considered it.

Maybe forever just wasn't a word in his vocabulary, and that was a fact that he had to come to peace with. Endings were inevitable, and extending something finite and forcing it to last past its expiration would just hurt everyone involved. Why would Cyrus settle if it would just make him and his partner unhappy? Could he learn to be happy despite the way that the thought of "this is it" would weigh him down and make him tired?

Cyrus decided to quiet his mind, clearing it with a useless ferocity. He decided that he would focus on tomorrow and tomorrow only, and he turned the dial on the radio up a few notches, letting the music calm him a little bit.

Tomorrow, tomorrow. What was going to happen tomorrow? Cyrus ran through the schedule. He would get home late at night, for sure, if not in the early morning. He needed to make some calls (to Buffy and Andi, and probably something to Jeanine), and eventually get to work to actually have a discussion with Jeanine about what happened. Somewhere, in the fast-working cogs of his anxious mind, he decided that he would disclose about the rendezvous with Jonah. He chose not to dwell on his change of heart.

It was somewhere in between a change in song and a right turn that Cyrus began to consider the possibility that he would call Jonah, too. Jonah's contact was still on his phone, and Jonah deserved some kind of explanation for the way that Cyrus ran as quickly as he did. Cyrus then remembered that Cyrus didn't even know why he ran as fast as he did, the memory was too blurry to make any real comments on it.

Everything happened at a speed that Cyrus wasn't ready to comprehend. First, he went on a trip to Utah, then he had a day long romantic encounter, then he realized that Harry was going to propose, and suddenly he ruined his whole mission and possibly his career.

Considering that Cyrus had enjoyed full weeks where the most monumental occasion that would happen to him would be a vest that he wanted to buy going on sale, this was giving him some serious whiplash. 

Maybe Jonah could give him some advice. He lived in Utah, after all (unless that was a lie too, with spies these things would get unclear), so maybe this was just a normal Tuesday for him. Just the process of going on a trip to Utah had jumpstarted Cyrus' life, from presenting him with a new suite of crises to putting his job at risk, so maybe the fault could be placed on the state instead of Cyrus. Maybe Utah just happened to be one of those states.

It was the result of another right turn that led to Cyrus thinking about Jeanine. Was Jeanine going to get him fired for this debacle? He got the briefcases switched, but the possibility of any kind of delay in the switch was considered something to avoid at all costs. This delay was not only advised against, but he held a lot of the blame for the mishap. 

He needed to fix things with Jeanine, at the very least. Whether or not he lost his job, they needed to sort out their issues. 

He let the memory of the last time that he consoled a crying Jeanine through the door at an office party flash through his head at the thought of her.

It was a going away party for Anne, their beloved receptionist who was retiring. Anne was the kind of old woman who always made enough food to give the leftovers to her friends, although she always made it appear as if she just happened to make triple the serving size on accident, and her refrigerator simply wasn't big enough for the load. She was the sweetest lady, the kind who could tell whenever someone was sad just by the energy that they would exude, no matter how well masked their mood was to everyone else. The entire office of low level spies loved her more than they loved most things, so a going away party for her retirement was inevitable. 

Jeanine had been struck by the realization of her solitude and mortality after Larry, an older married man who served as the resident dumbass in the office, sang a passionate (though off key) rendition of "Somebody To Love". The lyrics of the song, compacted with the fact that Larry was able to find someone to have three kids with despite his aggressive form of dumbassery, had led to Jeanine to tears.

She had been sobbing, words hushed and hard to hear through the door, but Cyrus understood. Sometimes, when Jeanine would cry out her fears in the odd quiet of the hallway, Cyrus would think that they were alike in the worst ways. Two aging folks, clinging to youth and the idea that the world wasn't ending. They knew that they were running out of time.

He had speculated that this reason was why Jeanine set him up with her brother, back when they were friends and they didn't have the painful tension that punctuated every sentence that they shared. He thought that Jeanine thought that if she could find a guy for Cyrus, she could find someone for herself.

Then again, why did anyone set someone up with Cyrus? It happened all of the time. Buffy did it, Andi did it, even his mom would do it sometimes. He wondered if people were living vicariously through his dating adventures, reveling in the disastrous hilarity of it all. Every mismatch he suffered through was another reassurance for the attached that they had chosen right, and every promising beginning gave his single friends hope that they could enjoy their dating life.

And Cyrus did enjoy his dating life, he guessed. It was uncertain and awkward at every turn, but it was fun in its own weird way. There was some kind of joy that he found in wasting time like this. In every ridiculous boyfriend to awkward mishap, he certainly had enough stories to last a lifetime of tipsy dinner parties and fun ice breakers. There was a world of possibilities (not all of them best for Cyrus, but a world all the same), wasn't it Cyrus' job to pursue them? What's the harm of entering dead end relationships with guys because they were "down to clown". 

Before the next song ended, Cyrus arrived in the parking lot of the airport. The air hung heavy with mid-afternoon humidity, and Cyrus scanned over his flight information. Numbly noting that he had two layovers, one in Salt Lake City and another in a state that he didn't care enough about to remember the initials of. He parked his car and walked to the airport, the air too hot around him as he walked, letting the numbness inundate him until he was nothing at all. There was nothing else to be, really, he thought as he walked lightly on the pavement, briefcase in one fist and suitcase in the other. Closing his eyes and letting himself sink into oblivion, Cyrus walked into the airport.

He went through the motions, getting through security without an issue. He bought a drink to sip while waiting for the first flight to board, and flipped causally through some tabloid magazine with feigned interest over the gossip.

The plane rides were uneventful, something that Cyrus was forever grateful for. The people he sat next to weren't chatty, thank god, and the airline food (he stifled the "airline food" joke that Buffy always made whenever he said the phrase, so much that it became second nature to him) wasn't bad. The layovers were spent drafting a text to Buffy to get her to meet him at the airport, until he just decided to drive himself home with the least amount of fanfare possible. He checked his phone for texts that no one bothered to send, and eventually let himself feel as isolated as he wanted to.

There was something about prolonged time in airports that did this to him. He always requested one-way flights when he had the opportunity, but this was short notice and he knew not to request anything more from a peeved Jeanine than absolutely necessary. So he waited, and waited, because there was nothing else to do. He put his phone on "do not disturb" and bought some food, eating it half heartedly as he stared out of the large windows at his gate. A small, sad voice in him asked if *this* was it. Maybe he was meant forever, it just wasn't the way that he wanted it. Maybe another person wasn't going to be it for him, when he had this. Staring out of cavernous windows as people who he would never meet left and returned from this airport, this hub of human experience.

Cyrus cursed under his breath as he took another absentminded bite of his food, no apparent cause for his outburst. Something about the crushing existential weight of the whole day had led him to this, this suffocating state of constant pondering. 

He finally decided to break some part of the pattern, and called Buffy, and she picked up after a few lazy rings.

"Hello," she began, slow but friendly.

"So, guess who has two thumbs and is coming back home early?" Cyrus asked, trying to warp his tired, mellow voice into something upbeat and excited.

"You?" 

"You bet. I hope the party bus arranged to take me home is okay for rescheduling?" Cyrus joked, voice almost cracking with effort.

"Please, drive yourself home like an adult. Anyway, what's with the early return?" Buffy replied, a little bit more bite present in every syllable. Cyrus scrambled, trying to figure out if he was at fault or if she was just stressed over wedding planning.

"The usual. I might lose my job, I messed up big time. Now I'm in an airport, pondering my existence. Just wanted someone to know that I'm coming home early before I forget to alert anyone," Cyrus replied, still bright and cheery in an artificial way that he was sure could be detected over the phone.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Buffy responded, and she sounded so tired that Cyrus realized that this was a bad idea. A tired Buffy usually needed up saying something the was true but badly timed, and Cyrus didn't need another bomb to drop when he was still caught in his last train wreck.

His mind supplied all kinds of truths she could drop on his head to flip his life on its head. There were so many things about himself that he knew he needed to be told, things that he was aware of on a basic level but needed to be made clear to him. It wasn't the time, however. He prayed that Buffy wouldn't decide that now was the time.

"I'm going to go, the plane is leaving sometime soon. I'll call tomorrow, after I get fired?" Cyrus said, instead of letting all of his thoughts stream out.

"Sounds like a plan," she replied, and Cyrus could feel a wave of fatigue roll to him through the phone speaker.

"Ok, b-" Cyrus began, before he was cut off.

"Wait! I forgot to tell you! Barista Tim asked about you when I got my coffee this morning."

"Any changes in his levels of 'down to clown'?" Cyrus asked, blocking out thoughts of Jonah and the trinket shop and that coffee shop where his life began and ended.

"They've increased, which is a feat considering how high said 'down to clown' levels were last time I talked to him. I explained that you were on a work trip and getting back soon, so either pursue it or give me the address of a new coffee shop," said Buffy.

"I'll talk to him."

The sentence had finality in its air, and Cyrus waited for Buffy to end whatever this was. The seconds ticked by, the sounds of the clock ringing in his head, and she said a quiet "Bye Cyrus", with a similarly quiet, vacant response.

Cyrus continued staring through the window, forever lost and alone. He felt more alone than ever, sitting like this. He made a note to call Andi when he knew that she would have the time (she was on something of a work trip too, even though it was much longer and more serious than Cyrus' adventure. She was in Chicago, working on some big interior design trip for her brand, and the schedule was erratic and odd in a way that Andi was perfect for. Though amazing for Andi, it did make it a bit difficult to get ahold of her in a crisis).

Time passed, as it always did, and soon Cyrus' plane began to board. He tried to shake himself out of his daze, listening to some upbeat music and shaking the stillness out of his limbs as subtly as he could.

The plane ride itself continued the day's pattern of quietness accompanied by unfocused contemplation. Eventually, despite the storm raging in Cyrus' head, the clear sky slowly darkened into the night time. The plane let out, and the passengers exited, the stream of people steady and constant as they left. Cyrus got his luggage and found his car in the infinity that comprised the airport parking lot. He let himself give way into the numbness, and drove himself home ("like and adult", Buffy's voice reminded him. The young, sentimental part of him wanted to be picked up from the airport, like a young traveler in a movie finally arriving home, but he wasn't a young traveler anymore).

As he arrived home, feeling the stiffness of inactivity flood every crevice of the space, he decided to watch a movie or two for something of a coming home celebration. He stretched himself out on the couch, trying to feel as if he weren't a stranger in his own home, and began to stream a movie that he hadn't watched in a few years. 

Cyrus had a habit of watching movies that he had almost forgotten whenever he was sad. Something about his melancholy would make him remember a movie that he hadn't seen in forever, and he was left with an inescapable craving to see it again.

Soon, the movie, a mediocre comedy that was a few bad reviews from being a certified box office flop, was displayed on his screen, and he found himself scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. He opened and closed apps, just finding something that would get enough of his attention so he could actually enjoy the movie (if he paid too much attention to a movie that wasn't good, he would have the energy to care about its faults. Naturally, he tried to avoid this scenario as often as he could).

He found himself looking through his texts, eventually happening upon the number of Barista Tim from Buffy. After a too short moment of questioning, he decided to text the number, sending a simple "Hey, this is Cyrus, Buffy's friend. Tim, right?"

After about ten minutes of idly ignoring the movie (he paid enough attention to pick up on major plot points, and some jokes that were good enough, but he couldn't name a character if someone asked him to), Tim texted back. His message was similarly simple, a pleasant "Yes, this is Tim!", and soon Cyrus found his attention split between conversation with this guy and the movie. He found himself chuckling despite himself, at both forms of entertainment.

The movie, as he vaguely remembered from when he watched it years ago, was charming enough, and had one or two characters that made the hour and a half almost worth wasting. Tim was, though immature at times and more than a little catty, was definitely Cyrus' type with his eagerness and ability to make good small talk. 

Though the thought of Jonah still made his chest burn, this was good. This was familiar. It was almost comforting, how easily Cyrus could slip back into this pattern. They scheduled a date, and Cyrus enjoyed the easiness of it all. He didn't have to think too hard to find a time for them to meet or a topic for them to discuss.

As the conversation dwindled and the movie came to an end, Cyrus decided to let himself embrace the return to a pattern. He was still sad in the way where he felt chipped at the edges, but still functional, and that was what mattered. He could go on his day to day pattern. He could wake up and walk around, no matter how pointless it all was. Cyrus knew the slogans, the motivational posters, and how they told him to live instead of just survive. Fuck that, he thought. I can survive like this, he thought, the voice narrating his thoughts taking on an air of reckless defiance of all of this other needs and wants that had come to light after disaster. 

He swallowed down his inhibitions with a swig of water, letting them flow away from view as he set his alarms and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to undying_young for commenting and reminding me that’s people actually read this!!! Your nice words have made many of my days!! But no worries about this fic not being completed, I have it finished. There is a definite end, so fear not.
> 
> Thanks, readers, for sticking with this story, keep being the best!


	8. An Acceptance in Twilight Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek at Cyrus' work life. Also, JeAnInE?!?

In the morning, as Cyrus' eye cracked open to the soundtrack of a phone alarm and the early morning ambiance of his room, Cyrus realized that he actually had work to do today.

This was a bit of an unusual epiphany, as Cyrus' work days were hours of busy work that all served for some greater cause that he was unaware of punctuated by the occasional mission that was vaguely risky but still easy to complete. The job was never a passion of his, and the majority of his energy went into trying to stay up to date on his coworkers' gossip. From Karen's ex husband making eyes at Jillian at a benefit to Scott's ongoing battle with the coffee machine, Cyrus knew it all. He had come to be a sort of encyclopedia for drama, causing the inevitable comments of "if you put your brains into something that actually mattered, Cy..." that he would shrug off. He had a monologue written, somewhere in a drawer that he had stuffed full of small mementos and knickknacks that couldn't go anywhere else, of what he would say back when someone says it one too many times. It would probably be Jillian, he notes, somewhere in the back of his head. 

He fluidly shifted his focus into getting ready for the most important moment of his spy career (he didn't want to think too hard about the fact that he had spent full, long years at a job in which his most important moment would be his firing), pushing the covers off of him with a nearly unprecedented eagerness. He managed to get in front of the mirror, and brushed his teeth with ferocity as he imagined what his last words to Jillian would be.

They would probably be something about the fact that the entire office knows about what Jillian was getting up to with Karen's ex husband (there was very little denying, he had a cubicle next to her and had to listen to some of the most uncomfortable overheard conversations of his life). He would probably throw in something about how if she precedes the comment with the words "I'm not homophobic, but...", the comment would definitely be homophobic. He had held in a lot of these complaints for the sake of some workplace camaraderie, but he was ready for them to spill out like a fountain of truth.

He might also add in something heartfelt, because he did dislike Jillian but he by no means hated her. He would probably work in a beleaguered but sincere compliment about the way that she tended to the office plants with care even though they weren't her responsibility. He might mention hat the office would be a lot more dead if it wasn't for her little touches like that, but that wasn't what he wanted to focus on for his last day.

And Karen, too! What would he tell Karen, he wondered, as he filed through his shirts in his closet before deciding on a shirt that was a kind, non-confrontational pink. It was one of his favorite shirts, but he rarely wore it for fear of some comment. 

He would probably give Karen a diatribe about the fact that she should start wearing earbuds or headphones, because he taste in music was tolerable until it had been playing for hours at an volume that was too loud to not hear it and too quiet to complain about it. He would probably also give a similar diatribe about how she was one of the most absurdly pleasant people he had ever met, despite the egregious amount of shit the had to sit through. Despite a dirtbag ex and some of her monstrous friends, she had managed to be unfailingly awesome. 

As he returned to the mirror to comb through his hair, his mind drifted to Scott, their exhausted budget manager. Cyrus decided that he would give the young, caffeine-fueled Scott a firm handshake and a well wishing for his future. There would probably be an interlude between the handshake and the well wishing in which Cyrus would tell Scott that he needs to sleep more and learn how to work a coffee machine without having the directions in front of him, because that made the wait take forever and it was a bit of a nuisance. After the well wishing, Cyrus decided that he would wish Scott good luck with his fiancée, a girl named Denise who had a mind for engineering and mastery in the art of fixing her hair within seconds. 

He finally had all of his affairs in order, and grabbed a briefcase and car keys. He walked down the sidewalk to his car with certainty, and his mind supplied him with a message to Larry, his second favorite occasionally insensitive dumbass (his first favorite was Buffy, and she had taken on the title of affection with sentimental pride). 

The image was perfect in his head as he climbed into the car. Larry would be situated carefully in his cubicle, trying to work around the clutter that crowded his desk, making sure that he didn't knock any of it over (he always did, and it would always make a huge mess that would lead to the whole office rolling their eyes). Cyrus would walk past him, and let the words burst out, passionate and smooth. The words would be about how Larry was a dumbass, but he was also a (usually) well meaning asshole, despite the regularity with which he managed to hurt a coworker. Cyrus would add in an exasperated plea to forgive Jillian, because Jillian said a lot of dumb things that she didn't mean. Jillian had made a crack about one of Larry's teenage daughters that Cyrus wasn't around to witness, but the fallout was explosive. 

Cyrus rolled down the streets, slowing his car for the traffic. Jeanine popped into his mind, as she so often did. 

Cyrus had the most passionate words for her out of everyone, if he was being honest.

They would probably begin vitriolic, as Cyrus would spit out his frustrations. The frustrations themselves began and ended with her brother, and the way that their friendship fell out after that mismatch. He wanted to tell her that no, just because he was her brother doesn't mean that she had to, or even should've, put up with everything that he's done or said. He would probably spend a portion of this section complaining about her weird aversion to scarves, and how Karen was just trying something new with her look and did not deserve a mean comment for it. 

Of course he would end up talking about the fact that he very desperately missed their friendship, along with a hopeful message about how, despite what she seemed to believe based on the reasons she would cry in the bathroom, she would not spend the rest of her life alone and sad. She was, no matter how many hurtful jibes they would trade, someone who was very important in his life and he wouldn't give up their cold, painful, almost broken friendship for the world.

Soon, he found himself at the parking lot for the office that he shared with all of these people. The times were crazy and weird and the memories were bittersweet enough to bring tears to his eyes. He exited his car, mind swimming with it all. The future was so close and so unavoidable, but he smiled nonetheless. 

The wall of sound that hit him the second that he entered the space of the office almost made him stumble back with its intensity. Karen's music was louder than usual, and it seemed to be with the purpose of attempting to drown out the fight that Larry and Jillian were having. They were only a few steps below yelling, and the sound was only made worse by the shrieks of Scott, who had what was obviously hot coffee staining the entire front of his white and blue striped work shirt. All of these stimuli compounded on each other, causing a borderline unbearable experience. Quickly, though, the sounds (aside from Scott as he hurriedly tried to keep the soaked shirt form touching his skin while sticking napkins on the wreckage to soak up some of the scalding liquid) quieted down as one by one, the folks in the officie realized Cyrus' return. 

Jillian was the first to acknowledge it, moving away from her incomplete argument with Larry to rush over to Cyrus, giving him a quick hug and a sincere "welcome back". Larry soon joined her, giving him a firm handshake with some half assed joke about the office not smelling as good while he was gone (Larry always chose a few traits to pick on whenever he made jokes, and Cyrus felt lucky that Larry just wanted to make cologne jokes). Karen soon followed, realizing that the cause of the break in the fight was caused by Cyrus. She gave him a hug, and asked about how the trip went. Cyrus smiled fondly at the hullabaloo, and answered every query with shallow, nice answers (he mostly discussed the coffee and the quirks of Utah).

Inevitably, Jeanine rushed into the office, having just gotten off of the phone. Her eyebrows were furrowed with the stress of being young and important, and she looked at the cluster near the door. Cyrus could practically sense her blood pressure rising from across the space. He heaved a long sigh and walked to her, head hung guiltily.

Jillian, Karen, and Larry exchanged worried looks before returning to their cubicles and resuming their work. Karen didn't turn on the music, and Cyrus could tell that they were waiting to overhear an explanation. Jeanine realized this too, and silently walked to her office, and Cyrus knew that he had to follow her. He decided to placate his tense, anticipated coworkers.

"Wow, I demand to come home early and you get worried? Didn't know you cared so much, Jeanine," Cyrus said, his voice a little bit too loud to be casual, painted with strokes of forced sarcasm.

"You are going to explain. In my office, if I have to clarify. Now's not the time for a public address," Jeanine answered, her voice clearly pissed off.

Though slightly embarrassed, the notice seemed to work. Though curious, his coworkers were significantly less confused. He could imagine the possible speculations that they were coming up with, but he felt like none of them would live up to what had actually happened.

He, despite the hesitation he still held, walked into Jeanine's office as calmly as he could. He didn't want to be too vulnerable yet, and he wasn't going to be begging for his job, so he didn't feel the pressure to grovel.

"So, Cyrus. You may remember that after what I discovered from the Salt Lake City headquarters was a successful operation, you called me and demanded that you go home as soon as humanly possible. Is this correct?" Jeanine asked, not yet making eye contact with Cyrus as she filed through papers, looking for something. As Cyrus guessed the possibilities of what she was looking for, he felt a stone drop in his stomach when she pulled a slim, manila folder marked "Cyrus Goodman".

"Yes, that is correct. And you're pulling out my file? How middle school. I would bet twenty bucks that there isn't anything in that file other than some blank pieces of paper meant to look intimidating," Cyrus shot back, trying to keep the nervous edge out of his voice. He did want to lose his job, but something about a confrontation like this made him twitchy and worried.

"As much as I would love to indulge this ego trip that you appear to be coasting on, I coordinated with the Washington DC branch and was alerted of some," Jeanine took a pause before finally making eye contact with Cyrus and continuing, "troubling behaviors of yours."

He wanted to curse over the realization that Jonah did disclose after all, but he tried to maintain the cool exterior.

"Jonah was the one who messed up though, so why am I in the doghouse? He was the one who didn't follow mission instructions because he thought that I wouldn't be a spy," Cyrus said, attempting (and slightly failing) to keep his voice steady and level in the face of all this.

"You are both in the doghouse, Cyrus, because you both went against mission protocol and engaged in *activities*, which is one of the first rules for anyone on a mission," Jeanine rattled off, voice taking on the cool, icy tone that Cyrus could only dream about. 

"Wait, spies can't-" Cyrus began, but he stopped midway as he saw the look on Jeanine's face. They both knew what the question was, because they both knew who Cyrus was and the kind of dumbassery he could get up to if only given the opportunity.

"No, Goodman. Spies cannot engage in romantic interludes at any point during a mission, the fact that you don't know that is something so appalling that it makes me wonder how after all this time, this is the first time that you have ended up here," Jeanine answered, and she looked so tired that Cyrus passively wondered if she was on the verge of collapse. 

Nonetheless, Cyrus tried to smooth himself out and put on the cool, relaxed front of someone who was truly free from all barriers, professional and mental. There was a moment of silence, broken only by Jeanine's practiced, mature voice.

"So what the fuck happened in Utah that made you demand to leave early?" Jeanine asked, and the words didn't sound right with the voice. Something about her words almost spelled out a sense of desperation that simply didn't fit with the detachment that she projected.

"What can I say, what happens in Utah stays in Utah."

Cyrus' comeback was responded to with a stretch of silence, and he felt the air slowly build up and pressurize around him. Everything felt more tense, and the stress seemed to build up as the silence stretched on, lasting forever. He anticipated Jeanine's eventual monologue, in which she would rip him to shreds for his mistakes and his incompetence and all of the things that he told her in confidence.

"Are you done?" she asked instead. All emotion was drained from her words, left only with a sardonic coolness that ripped Cyrus apart.

"What else do you want? I could give you an elicit account of the kiss that I shared with Jonah, but do you actually want that? I mean, a lot of shit went down in Utah. My life is silently falling apart Jeanine, you can't blame me for taking the branch when a cute guy offers to sit next to me in a coffee shop in a state where I knew no one. He was cute, and we had a fling. Does that make me a bad person? No! I'm a bad person for different reasons, goddamnit. But the thing is that I left Utah the way I did for many reasons, and Jonah was just one of them. Jonah just happened to be my most punishable offense, so if you want that, I'll give you everything you need," Cyrus rambled, quietly afraid that he sounded like a madman.

Jeanine responded with another stretch of silence, but this time she spent it by filing lazily through Cyrus' file. She looked up at him, and he could swear that he could pick out a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.

"Do you remember which missions you had encounters on? Encounters of the romantic sort. We can go over case files of those to check for any possible damages or alterations to the mission."

"I would need a list of missions, but I'm conf-" Cyrus began, slowly regaining his alertness as his eyes darted around the room, gaze dragging on pictures of Jeanine with her brother and her family, and he noticed a picture of her perched on a picnic table next to her ex girlfriend, looking uncharacteristically carefree. He could tell that the framed photo would be sensitive, and resolved not to bring it up.

"Nebraska mission? Where you served as backup for Jillian?" Jeanine asked, eyes fixed on a file with such intensity that Cyrus felt fear drum up in his heart at the mere idea of being the subject of that kind of laser focus.

His mind ran through the trip as if he was hitting the speed up option on the movie, his thoughts slowing down at certain parts. He suppressed a grimace at some of the memories of the conversation he shared with Jillian on the plane (he was absolutely sure that the person taking the window seat in their three person seat section wanted to kill them. They spent most of the plane ride debating about whether the moon landing was faked while getting progressively more tipsy on mimosas that Jillian paid for with Karen's ex husband's credit card), but kept running through it. He eventually remembered the third night, and running into a redhead named Dawson at a Target.

"Yes, actually. His name was Dawson," Cyrus answered evasively.

"I need more information, Cyrus," Jeanine responded, gracing Cyrus with a momentary glance.

"We made out in a Target bathroom, but that's about it. I don't know his last name," he responded, a bit louder than he should've. He hoped that the rapt audience eavesdropping outside hadn't heard. He felt a mild sweat break out, suddenly realizing that he had to tell Jeanine about everything, not just Dawson.

"Is that all?" Jeanine asked, voice droning in that emotionless, businesslike way.

"He knew I was coming from Washington DC, but I told him that I was visiting my sister, because she just had kids. He was very disinterested, so I'm not sure if there's any spy stuff there," said Cyrus.

"Just to be sure, what do you know about him? I could maybe go through some public databases to be sure. Check for any employee pages on the websites of the spy organization coverups, if we need to."

"He said that he was a journalist for some hipster news site. Does that fit with any of the known coverups?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I'm going to mark him down as a maybe. So, other trips? How about the one in Atlanta?" Jeanine asked, finger pointing out a line on the page in front of her.

"Nope, nothing in Atlanta," Cyrus responded, marginally calming down from the initial anxiety of the Nebraska situation. 

"Austin?" Jeanine asked, and Cyrus could immediately feel the room amp up in pressure. He coughed awkwardly over the silence, before uttering a sad "yes".

Jeanine's eyes snapped up angrily.

"Austin? You were dating my brother when you went to Austin-" Jeanine began

"I know! Technically it was an open relationship at that point, which was something that he suggested, might I add," Cyrus responded quickly, words tripping over each other in his hurry to explain himself. 

Jeanine fumed.

"So, who? What are the possibilities that this encounter endangered the mission?"

"His name was Vincent. Vincent Morse. You probably know-"

"Vincent Morse? What the fuck, Cyrus?" Jeanine interrupted, voice getting louder. He could imagine the speculation that would be going on from the other side of the door.

"So you do know him. It was an open-" Cyrus began, once again blustering in his defense of his actions.

"But still, what the fuck? Vincent of all people? Why the hell was Vincent even in Austin?" Jeanine asked. Cyrus winced in response, sheepishly looking at the bookshelf to her right.

"He was visiting family, and we were talking around that time and it came up that I had a work trip while he was visiting family. We decided to meet up, and it just happened, Jeanine. And I feel like I'll be saying this for the rest of this interrogation, but it was an open relationship, and it wasn't like there was a No Vincent rule in the arrangement."

"There might as well have been, if we're both being honest. Your best friend from college who you had actual fights with my brother over while you were trying to convince him that there was nothing there? That sounds like off limits to me," Jeanine shot back, words sharp as a knife.

"This isn't about your brother, Jeanine. This interrogation is about the possibility that I put the mission in jeopardy, and I didn't. He had no affiliations in anything that's remotely spy related, which I am very sure about, and he didn't even know that I was a spy. Lets move on," Cyrus begged.

"Okay. We'll move on, then. Reno?" Jeanine asked, and her voice had shifted into something cold and categorical.

"Nope," he replied. 

"Columbus?"

"Not really. Some guy who I didn't talk to gave me his number, but I didn't do anything with it."

"I wouldn't worry about that one. Minnesota?"

"Nothing there."

"Seattle?" Jeanine asked, and Cyrus' pause of response was answer enough.

"It was complicated," Cyrus answered, and his head ducked awkwardly, before letting his eyes look out of the window into the main office.

"Elaborate," Jeanine already had fire slowly growing in her eyes. Cyrus was dating her brother then, too.

"Do you want me to? Neither of us are going to enjoy this."

"Protocol, Goodman. Who was it, when was it, what was at risk?" she didn't make any eye contact, instead opting to mark something on the file with her company provided pen.

"Vincent, again. One time, the last night of the trip. As we established earlier, Vincent isn't a point of concern. Happy?"

There was a silence that permeated the room like a thick, suffocating smog. Cyrus had gone to Seattle amidst an epic fight with her brother, one that ended with a termination of their "open relationship" agreement. The relationship had ended a few weeks after Cyrus had come home. 

Cyrus had actually planned to meet Vincent at Seattle before they even had the fight, but they both knew then that the whole situation was getting a little bit out of control. They had been stifling feelings since their first semester of college, and their odd arrangement of meeting up whenever they could to have something that was a bit too close to love for comfort wasn't sustainable.

The two had met up at the hotel bar, as if it was illicit and somehow forbidden, and the way that the scenery made it appear as if it it was an affair hurt Cyrus in the worst way. In the morning, Vincent and Cyrus parted ways for the last time as they dove into their respective jobs (Cyrus on his mission of doing surveillance for a fishy bartender who was a small cog in a bigger machine, and Vincent to his job interview for an accounting job). It was an untied knot that they never had the heart to end, but there was a finality to the encounter that satisfied Cyrus on a good day. There would be the bad days, of course, when it would be 3pm and he would be staring into the void of work that he had to complete, but all he wanted was to have one of his infamous, four hour long phone conversations with the man who was once his best friend. 

It was a loose end, although Cyrus' life was a mess of loose ends and unfinished, abandoned stories that he simply didn't have the heart to complete.

"You're fired."

As the words stuttered out of Jeanine, indignant and terrified, Cyrus was faced with the realization that this was how it would all end. His job, his coworkers, and Jeanine. 

"Okay. I can't say I expected more. Can I say goodbye to everyone before I pack up my stuff? And what forms do I need to fill out? How can I make this easier for you, Jeanine?" Cyrus asked, voice softer and kinder than he expected. 

"Say goodbye today, and I'll send you the forms. Pack up your stuff, too," Cyrus spared a glance to Jeanine, who was alight with emotion. She appeared to be frayed and worn at the edges, her exhaustion and fatigue making every sensation stronger.

"Okay," Cyrus tentatively pulled himself up from the chair, feeling as if he was a puppet on a string, hardly in control of his slow, awkward motion.

"It was a pleasure working with you, Asshole," Jeanine remarked carefully, a humorless chuckle escaping her lips.

"The pleasure's all mine. I hope this isn't the end for us, Jeanine."

She only offered him silence, and he left the dismal office.

The world outside, bright and loud, gave him sensory overload so intense that he felt the urge to blink away tears. Karen, Jillian, Scott, and Jerry all whipped their focus onto him and his fragile state, some even preparing to get out of their seats.

"I just got fired, for those who didn't eavesdrop on the whole thing," he joked, voice worn out.

The employees, at their own pace, got out of their chairs to move closer to Cyrus to hear the story. He told his pleasant, heavily edited account of the whole thing after a hug from Karen that almost made him dizzy with comfort.

"So, there I was," he began, voice detached but optimistic, "in Utah. It's the day before the mission is supposed to take place, and I run into Jonah. Jonah and I hit it off, and next thing you know, we have raging crushes on each other. The next day, the transaction takes place, and Jonah looks around at the coffee shop, and decides that there is no one to trade briefcases with because it simply cannot be me. We both get fired, because we, and I quote from the letter I was handed, 'don't have time for mistakes such as these in such important missions'. It's okay though, this whole low level spy situation wasn't my passion. It's a blessing and a curse, this whole debacle."

They absorbed the story with a vague feeling of distrust that was not lot on Cyrus, but he told it nonetheless. He didn't need them to believe him all of the way, he supposed, he just needed them to think that it was all okay at the end of the day.

"So, what's next?" Karen asked.

What next? It was a legitimate question. Cyrus had just been laid off from his job of many years, and he didn't have much other experience or education. He was perfectly suited for a job in low stakes espionage, with his ability to blend in and keep catalogues of information, no matter how useless. He hadn't used the scores of information that he had stored up in the dustier recesses of his mind, and he wondered if he ever would.

What next? He wasn't the most skilled writer, nor was he good at most things that had to do with numbers. What did he even want to do? He knew that, if anyone asked while he was feeling particularly vulnerable, he would answer a soft "not this" to the question of what he really wanted.

"I don't know for sure. What would a guy do with a bachelors in business that he didn't want to get?" Cyrus joked, trying not to let his inner monologue spew out.

"I don't know. You've always been a man of untapped potential," Jillian quipped with a smile that was kind in a way that made it feel awkward on her face, as if she was so unfamiliar with the act of consolation that the mere attempt of it felt stiff. 

"Who knows..." Cyrus said, an unsure smile stretched across his lips.

"It's up to you, man, but I always thought that you would be a good PR Rep. You've got a good handle on that sort of stuff," said Scott, hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets as he tried to settle into a comfortable stance. 

Cyrus considered the concept, and the vision of the future within the suggestion was appealing. It only grew in its interest the more he thought about it.

The cluster chattered for only a few more minutes before Cyrus said his final goodbyes. He decided to ignore the long, emotional reviews of all of his coworkers in lieu of some sentimental, sincere words to each of them about what a pleasure it was to work with them. The whole group was a bit dewy eyed when he stepped out of the office for the last time, and when he climbed into his car, Cyrus let himself cry.

It was a lament, a mourning for another era of his life as it ended before his tired eyes. The tears ran down his cheeks, some falling off the edges of his face and onto the leather of the steering wheel, or the tough fabric on the car seats. He let himself sob into the air that surrounded him.

Eventually, the storm around him cooled. The sensation of being lost in a hurricane as the winds whipped around you, twilight blue ripping through every cell in your body, slowly and steadily replaced by the feeling of mist spreading over a well watered, emerald green countryside. The sort of melancholy sunshine that infused the bittersweet moments filled Cyrus up until he finally pulled his car out of the parking spot. 

He would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I posted twice in one day, I feel like that Rihanna gif. I’m doing finals right now, so forgive me if this is a day or two late. Also, thanks for any and all comments, i appreciate every one! That shit lightens up my day!!! Also wish me luck on my finals, i need them. Love y'all!


	9. A Beginning in Indigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :’). And so it ends

  
Cyrus decided to celebrate the end of an era with some vanilla bean ice cream (with whipped cream and strawberries, because this was a celebration) and a marathon of 1984. He was feeling utterly decadent, warm in his oversized college sweatshirt and comfortable in his lack of obligations for the rest of the day. 

He had spent the rest of the day that he got fired asleep, letting the exhaustion of it all catch up with him. Now, he was awake, chipper, and endlessly excited.

Before starting the show, he reached for his phone to call Buffy. He figured she would appreciate some sign that Jeanine didn't kill him in her office, and a phone call would do just that. He ate another spoonful of his ice cream before tapping her contact. He held the phone to his ear and let the rings of the phone bring him down to earth a little bit, waiting for Buffy to pick up.

"Hi! Cyrus, I have the best news!" Buffy said, words tripping over each other in her excitement.

"Do tell!" Cyrus responded, deciding that his news could wait.

"Guess who just found the perfect arrangement for the centerpieces?" Buffy asked, and Cyrus quirked a brow with such intensity that he was convinced it could be heard over the phone.

"No, Cy, you don't understand. These flowers are the one. They are magnificent. Simone was so excited, I was about to burst. It's the small victories. The day before yesterday was absolute hell, we were fighting and trying to get the puzzle piece of this huge thing together. It's not all together, but we're one step closer and it just feels so good," Buffy rambled, voice the epitome of overjoyed.

"I'm so happy that you're happy. It's infectious," replied Cyrus, and he meant it more than anything.

"All that amazing news aside, what's up with you?" Buffy asked, sounding as if she was slowly calming down from a high, the energy waning but the joy staying steady.

"I lost my job, but more importantly, I'm watching 1984. I've got ice cream, strawberries, and if I get cold I think I'm going to pull out the quilt that my grandma made. I'm truly living my best life."

There was a pause as Buffy tried to piece together this information with his tone, and Cyrus could imagine the cogs of her mind turning before he continued.

"Am I sad that time passes the way it does? Does it bum me out that something so important to me is ending? Yes. But I cried all of the bitter or yesterday, and now it's for the sweet. And action item one? Watch 1984 so I can have conversations with you and Andi about it."

There was another pause, but it was much shorter. 

"It's okay to feel your feelings, Cy, don't be afraid of that."

"I know. And right now I'm feeling good. It's not permanent or anything, but it's good. I'm liking this, so I'm going to embrace the new Cyrus Goodman and watch this. Wish me luck?"

"Good luck. I'm with you, whatever happens. Even if it happened in a Target bathroom," she said, snickering at the end.

"I told you that in confidence! It was a moment of weakness, and one that I would like to forget. God, I had to tell Jeanine about that, because it was apparently against protocol."

"Go watch your show. And when it's over, you need to tell me about this story of you having to list your hookups to Jeanine, because it sounds like a knee-slapper."

"Ok, bye. And will do. See you around?" 

"See you around."

The call ended, and Cyrus felt practically over-full with contentment. He started the show, and settled in. 

~

When the show was over, after way too much ice cream and not nearly enough strawberries (he ran out by the end of the third episode), Cyrus decided to phone Andi. If his memory of the time zone differences between them were accurate, Andi was currently on her lunch break.

He reclined on the couch lazily, stretching out and making himself comfortable before pulling his phone from the coffee table.

He tapped on the contact, and to his luck, the phone only rang a few times before Andi answered.

"Mack Design, who's calling?" Andi asked, voice as professional and smart as possible between bites of food. 

"Cyrus."

"Oh, hey man! I was on my phone and I accepted the call before I checked the caller ID. What's up?"

"Not much. I was fired from my job, but that's pretty unimportant considering the fact that I also just watched the last episode of 1984, and let me just say, holy shit."

"Right? But you lost your job? What's that about?" Andi asked, and he could hear her actively trying to sound less inquisitive about the whole ordeal.

"I made too many protocol violations and Jeanine got pissed. It was bound to happen. I still had to give her a list of everyone I hooked up with while on a mission," Cyrus answered, hand not occupied with his phone fiddling absentmindedly with his spoon. He had the bored air of someone who told a story too many times.

"Did she find out about Vincent?" 

"Yup," he replied, popping the 'p'.

"That sucks. Do you know what you're doing next?"

"I'm thinking of picking up a PR job at an office, or something like that. I'm not worried about that right now, though. I'm just figuring out the short term issues."

"If you ever need to get your mind off of all of it, just remember that I still have the number of Utah Guy. The low level government official, if that's your cup of tea."

"I'll see."

Cyrus wasn't sure if he wanted to jump into the dating pool again, when everything else in his life was so unclear and blurry. He considered it though, and figured that not everything necessarily had to change. 

"Do you want the number? You can think about it."

"I'm not sure, I have a date scheduled with some barista that Buffy set me up with in a week, and I don't know if I want two guys on my dance card, you know?"

"Wow, looks like Four Dates in One Night Cyrus is really turning over a new leaf. Loving it."

"Still send me the number, though. I'm not sure how serious about Tim I am."

"Tim? Sounds like a douchebag name. I'll definitely share the number. Anyway, my break is ending soon, and when it's over, I've got to attempt to reach something resembling a peace with Mrs. Jarai, because she is simply not giving up on the orange throw pillows."

"Godspeed, Andi."

"Godspeed, Cyrus."

With that, Andi hung up, leaving Cyrus draped over the couch luxuriously, television playing the option screen of his streaming service. She sent him a text with the guy's number, and Cyrus stared at the string of numbers with a contemplative stare before calling it. It rang a few times, and when it was answered, Cyrus was greeted with the pant of someone who had just raced to their phone.

"Cyrus? I've been wondering when you'd call!" answered a chipper smiling voice on the phone. He recognized it as Jonah, and resisted the urge to hang up immediately.

"Jonah! Just figured we could catch up after," he faltered lamely before settling on what he thought might encapsulate all that had occurred, "Utah."

"Yeah, we should talk," Jonah answered, and everything about his voice, broadcasted from the messy phone speaker, screamed the word 'beginning'. 

"We should," Cyrus answered, letting a hopeful smile grow. 

Hope was planted in him, as if it was a seed that was only going to grow bigger and bigger until its vines wound around every centimeter of his skin. Cyrus smiled further. He liked this. He liked new beginnings. He hadn't felt the drop in his stomach at something new, hadn't felt the jump of his heart at the unexpected. The future was shining and new, gorgeous and ever-possible. Ending were inevitable, he figured, but so were beginning.

So with that, Cyrus let himself begin again.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all enjoyed the conclusion of my story! I enjoyed writing it and I loved reading your comments! Love you all. Happy holidays!


End file.
